


"We're having a baby, my baby and me"

by Throwthemflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, One Shot, Pregnancy, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers
Summary: Harry has one dream. Louis plays along.





	"We're having a baby, my baby and me"

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a drabble on tumblr but found it again tonight in docs and thought, might as well place it here. Hope you enjoy. I'm @hazzabeeforlou on tumblr if anyone wants to know :)

It isn’t unusual, really. Harry has always had moods, many of them private, and Louis has learned to give him space, to love him from afar for a while, to wait them out. Tonight’s mood hangs on Harry like a garment, though, heavy and slightly too noticeable. His silence is not just solitary contemplation; he’s radiating pain, and that’s when Louis starts to break his self-imposed rule to let Harry be.

He’s been stood in front of the bathroom mirror for five minutes now, and Louis can’t really see what he’s doing from the bed, but he can guess. Taking in a breath, Louis pushes up and heads for the bathroom. Harry catches a glimpse of him coming and immediately straightens up, the crease between his eyebrows deep and dark.

It’s as Louis guessed. Even after so many years Harry looks sheepish about being caught in the act of aching for something he can’t have, but Louis soothes him, runs a hand down Harry’s bare back, tracing the outline of his spine before slipping both hands around his boy’s waist to rest on the soft of Harry’s belly.

He’s rewarded with a sniff, and when he meets Harry’s eyes in the mirror he sees them red-rimmed and too green. Louis kisses softly at Harry’s shoulders and rubs at the plush skin above Harry’s laurels. Eventually his boy’s abs stop clenching and Harry lets his tummy pudge out into Louis’ waiting fingers. Harry rounds into them further, his spine arching back as he grows his abdomen, and this is what Louis had been waiting for, to share in this painful, beautiful dream.

Louis rubs him gently, petting over the mound with all the tender protection in him, and for a moment he can almost feel the second heartbeat that Harry wishes were there.

“I’m late, Lou,” Harry whispers, his voice quavering, tiny. But he’s accepted Louis into his fantasy, and that’s enough.

“Darling…” Louis keeps kissing along the top of his spine. “Come to bed, love, let me take care of you.” Because that’s what Harry wants, what he needs. It’s not just the imagined child inside of him that Louis wants to care for.

Harry lets himself be guided to their mattress, lets Louis lay him down on his back, nuzzle up between his thighs, plant kisses on his tummy. The elastic of Harry’s boxers creates a gentle swell of flesh at his hips that Louis grips reverently, because now of all times Harry loves his extra padding, loves to have it given attention, given worship.

“She’s so small now, Lou, but she’ll grow…” Harry says, his voice again a whisper, like if he speaks his fantasy at full volume it will crack and fall away to leave him exposed.

Louis kisses up a bit farther, pressing his lips to Harry’s ribcage. “So will you, baby. You’ll grow so big for her, can see it already.” Taking a heat-swollen nipple between his lips, Louis continues, “Your breasts are already coming in, love. They’re so beautiful.”

Harry whimpers at this, his hands coming to rest over his lower belly. “I can feel her…”

“’Course you can. Soon she’ll start kicking, and you’ll feel her little feet.”

Louis hears Harry’s breath hitch. In one fluid motion Louis fumbles under their nightstand and retrieves the fancy lotion Harry only uses after bubble baths. He takes a weighty dollop in his palm and begins to spread it over Harry’s phantom pregnancy.

“We need to slather you up, baby, keep the bump moisturized as it grows.” Harry’s skin gives deliciously under Louis’ slick palms, his rolls and curves soaking up the lotion and turning dewy. “Won’t be able to hide it much longer, love. She’s growing too fast.” Louis kisses Harry’s navel. “Soon you’ll start showing and your pants won’t fit. We’ll have to get you the stretchy kind so we don’t pinch her. Get you some new panties too, soft ones, maybe lace, loose and high-waisted so they fit over your bump.”

Harry moans, his chest rising and falling with each stuttering breath. His eyes are open, and he’s looking at Louis, but somehow looking through him too, beyond him, seeing some imagined future that haunts his dreams.

“Soon I’ll be heavily pregnant, won’t I Lou?”

“Yes, baby. You’ll have to sleep on your side and I’ll have to help you stand up. You’ll gain a little weight too, here, here…” Louis touches Harry’s thighs, his hips, finally his cheeks, “Here. You’ll be so pregnant, love, glowing and plump and perfect. So perfect.”

“Ya? Perfect?”

“Perfect and beautiful, round all over, giving life to our baby.”

For a magical moment the aura of Louis’ words settles around them and Harry basks in it, soaking it into his skin, and then, as softly as it came, the spell falls, and Harry begins to cry. It’s over now, and Louis knows it’s no longer any use to keep pretending. He can only hope the beauty of their fantasy has lessened the pain of its demise.

“Shhh, baby, I’m here,” Louis coos, scooting up to press himself to Harry’s side, to hold him, to comfort him through it.

They don’t say anything more. There’s nothing more to really say. Harry cries into his chest and Louis might begin to cry a little too, not that Harry can hear, just silent tears that slip from his eyes, reminding him of how intertwined his happiness is with the soul in his arms. He would give Harry anything in the entire world, and yet this is beyond his control, beyond anyone’s control, a desire that must always remain un-sated, a wound that never heals, a fake reality whose raw pain is only too real to the fragile dreamer Louis loves.

Harry eventually drifts to sleep, both his hands caged around his stomach, protecting nothing but his internal organs and wondrous fantasies. And Louis loves that he’s strong enough to let his spirit break for the sake of acknowledging what can never be, loves that Harry follows his heart even when he knows reality will punish him with its horrors. Really, Louis loves so much about Harry, from his open vulnerability to his moody solitude to his child-like sincerity. He loves that Harry is asleep against him, sharing this quiet secret with him, letting someone else help carry a bit of the burden. It took years for Harry to let him see this dream, and even now, Louis knows it’s a privilege whenever Harry invites him to share in his fantasy, to see him so laid bare.

Now Louis doesn’t simply play along, because he’s begun to believe too, just for a moment, that the heartbeat against his hands belongs to the little girl Harry has described so often in mumbling half-wakefullness, a child with large blue eyes and curly hair and the most delicate fingers and toes, a child with pink lips and dimples and one eye slightly lower than the other.

Harry’s asleep now, and he won’t hear, but Louis murmurs anyway, “She’s gonna have your smile, Hazza.” Then he joins his partner in dreamless slumber.


End file.
